Puppets
by This username isn't taken yet
Summary: Nobody ever saw Tony break down. That was just how it was. How it had always been. They were blind, Tony had always thought. Only seeing what they want to see. His whole life was a performance. But what no one seemed to realize was that he was the puppet master. Because the world is his stage and the people are somehow both his audience and his puppets.


DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THE CHARACTERS BELOW BELONG TO ME, ALL RIGHT AND CREDIT GOES TO MARVEL INDUSTRIES AND THE CREATORS OF THE MOVIE

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Nobody ever saw Tony break down. That was just how it was. How it had always been. It made Tony wonder, how could they not see? He'd heard them describe him as emotional before. Emotional means feeling. There wasn't just happy and angry, grumpy and mischievous. There were more emotions than just that. There was grief and pain, desperation and agony. So why when they call Tony Stark emotional do they not see? Not see that he never showed those emotions? And if he could block those emotions, the most painful, yet human of them all, who's to say he can't create those lesser emotions? The easy fake smiles, the ones that had more than one type: the plastic one for the press, the cold one for his enemies, the trademark smirk, the one owned by the Merchant of Death, the easy going smiles to imply he is comfortable around someone. Tony has more fakes than he can count. Faking smiles was easy. Just another show. Like the press conferences that made up his whole life. Yet no one saw. No one could see. They were blind, Tony had always thought. Only seeing what they want to see. His whole life was a performance. But what no one seemed to realize was that he was the puppet master. He with his blinding smiles, fake annoyance, anger and mischievous facade.

He had the world in his palm, but to keep it there he had to dance, perform, fake it like never before. The world was his audience and Tony Stark always had them coming back for more. But the beauty of it was they didn't even realize and he'd let them believe they returned by their own choice, let them believe that he hasn't known exactly what they were going to do from the moment he pulled their strings. Because the world is his stage and the people are somehow both his audience and his puppets.

It was those who believed they were better, those who believed they had perfected the art of masks, that they knew how to pull strings better than anyone who were the easiest to pull the strings on. Those like Hill, Fury, Natasha, Coulson. All of them believed they had mastered the art, understood the performance. But Tony knows better. Knows that they think they are manipulating him, pulling his strings. He'll let them live their fantasy, let them smirk and believe they have him pinned. Because in reality, they are his most dedicated audience, his most worn puppets. He shows them what they expect and performs it so well they think that's all, they leave, decide there is nothing left he can give them, that was his final act. Yet they always return, watching waiting eagerly in front row seats, believing they had chosen to be there. And he lets them. Because their own strings move so much easier when they believe that. He lets them believe they are the masters of the stage, holding the strings of the puppets. They forget. Forget that while they had to learn the art of creating masks and puppets, Tony was born into it. It was the first thing he learnt, how to play the world, how to create performances that would hold the audience. Scandals, sympathy, intrigue yet still even after performing for them his whole life he is somehow still a mystery.

He holds the world in his palm and somehow they overlook the fact he never shows the most painful of all emotions. They forget those emotions even exist when looking at him. He shows them all what they want and they don't want those emotions. His performances are legendary, he never drops his act. Because while the rest of the world are stars of their own shows, Tony is a supernova, the bigger star of all, the one all the little stars orbit around, like planets to their sun.

At night or alone in lockdown in his lab his mask drops, performance over for a single night, once or twice a year. Soon enough though the sun rises and he can hear the audience cheering, his puppets are waiting and he pulls on his mask with the ease of one who is more comfortable with it than without, because Tony's a star and he's going to be shining once again. The curtains are rising with the sun and who is he to disappoint those who have been such good puppets, such a dedicated audience. And the stage lights are on and he's performing and everyone is still just as blinded by his brightness and he loves it.

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**This just popped into my head one day, hope you enjoy it!**


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